


The Waiting Game

by masquiat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hermione is my fave, POV Hermione Granger, POV Luna Lovegood, POV Neville Longbottom, POV Theodore Nott, Post-Battle, Probably EWE, Ronmus?, Seamus/Ron bromance, Seanald?, but she's on a journey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-05-02 02:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 11,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19189927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masquiat/pseuds/masquiat
Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts brings some events to close, but nothing really ends. Events long in the making lead to internecine war in Magical Britain.





	1. Nott

Early 1980s

It must be the night of the full moon , Nott thought irritably, as he pulled the hood of his cloak lower over his face. Only that would explain why Rowle insisted on meeting tonight of all nights. The rain was really sheeting down now and he couldn't see a blasted thing.

He could smell the mulchy scent of the forest and from a previous visit he knew they were standing in the ruins of an ancient temple, but curse Rowle for insisting on symbolism over practicality. They could very well have met at the Blacks' and then at least there'd have been drinks and snacks. 

There was the sucking sound of another Portkey arriving and then the violent sound of someone retching. Nott smirked. Obviously young Lucius had yet to master his aether-illness. 

"Be we gathered now?" Rowle intoned. Nott rolled his eyes. There was a quiet chorus of muttering and the sound of someone clearing their throat. 

"We have gathered here--on this auspicious night--to discuss the future of our race!" Rowle announced, "The best of us are vanishing! In time our civilization will be nothing but forgotten ruins! We must rise up to combat the fading of our traditions--"

Nott had heard it all before, and hurriedly reached under his cloak for the items that he had prepared for his own spell. While Rowle thundered on in the darkness and the Death Eaters shuffled irritably, Nott was ensuring that the protective ritual designed by his brilliant--and increasingly erratic--wife was cast over his infant son. By the time everyone had apparated home, more drained of magic than any of them had expected to be, the infant Nott bore the distinctive markings of ritual scarification.


	2. HGranger

Hermione  
post-Battle

The damp air blew cool across the orchard carrying the scent of fresh growth and a lingering smell of charred earth. Seated on a low bench outside the Burrow, Ron, Hermione and Harry were listening to the sounds of Molly crashing pots around the kitchen inside. In her grief--in all their collective grief--concentrating on even routine magic had become difficult. Molly had chased them out of the kitchen, flapping a tea towel at them and refusing any offers of help. Eventually the crashing stopped and they heard the sizzle of frying bacon.

Ginny stepped out through the open doorway."Mum's crying again," she announced. She had cropped her long hair short and looked wan.

"I'm going to Luna's," she continued and without waiting for an answer she spun away and took off toward the trees. Harry jumped up to follow her, but returned minutes later looking frustrated.

Hermione frowned as she watched him shuffle back towards them, shoulders hunched.

"Budge up," she whispered to Ron, whose long arm lay draped across her back. She reached for Harry and pulled him on to the seat between them.

For a long moment the three of them sat on the bench, pressed tight together, just listening to one another breathe.

The moment grew too long and too warm.

Ron stood abruptly.

"Let's fly," he suggested. Harry shrugged, but stood to join him.

Ron looked at Hermione, who shook her head.

"I'm going to check the post. Maybe your passports have arrived," she answered.

Ron looked away uncomfortably. When the three of them had told the Weasleys they would be flying to Australia to get Hermione's parents, Molly and Arthur had been shocked.

"No one flies across the Pacific!" Arthur had exclaimed.

"Muggle flying, by aeroplane," Hermione had explained.

"Flying without magic!?" Molly had shrieked, sending the dishware cascading off the shelves with a surge of uncontrolled magic.

Now Ron was hesitating about the trip.

"'Mione, I'm just really not sure about leaving Mum right now..." he trailed off.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. They had had this conversation already, in private, and now Ron was repeating it for their audience of one.

"It's your choice, Ronald. I'm still not forcing you to do anything," she snapped. And with that she stood and strode off into the trees in the same direction Ginny had taken.


	3. NLongbottom

Neville  
post-Battle

The long, polished expanse of the dining table lay between them. At one end sat Augusta Longbottom, a frailer, older version of the witch who had charged headlong onto the grounds of Hogwarts. At the other end sat her grandson, Neville Longbottom, a calmer, stronger incarnation of his previous self. Both were paging through their correspondence as they drank tea and waited for their elf-made breakfast to appear.

Augusta was the first to speak.

"Algie is on the Swahili coast--he is recommending the thaumal baths for my febris."

Neville looked up from the letter he had been re-reading. It was a curt note from Professor McGonagall declining his assistance at Hogwarts. He couldn't understand why she would refuse his labour and he was bitterly disappointed that he wouldn't be spending the summer with his friends at the castle.

"I will be going to the Ministry for a Portkey this afternoon," Augusta continued.

Neville's heart leapt, the Swahili coast was known for its scrying corals and it was very exciting to be travelling there. His mood lifted, although he was somewhat concerned to hear his Gran admit to any ill health; she generally reacted to sickness as though it was a moral failing.

"Oooh--" he started eagerly, but Augusta continued over him:

"You, of course, will be managing the estate. I'm so pleased," and here she paused to clear her throat with uncharacteristic emotion, "I'm so pleased that you have finally discovered the Longbottom _sang froid_."

She stood, noisily pushing back her chair.

"I will breakfast upstairs," she declared, and bustled out of the room.

Neville, who was staring after her open-mouthed, was shaken from his stupor by the arrival of the egg tray. He shut his mouth with a snap.

Suddenly ravenous, he crooked his finger to summon an egg to his plate. In years gone by, the soft-boiled eggs had caused him endless anxiety as attempts to mind-his-manners led to sloppy messes on the table, the ceiling and, on one memorable occasion, the side of Uncle Algie's head. But the horrors of last year had radically recontextualised his world; he was finding it easier to ignore the little things.

So there would be no Hogwarts this summer, he thought. No Gran either. With a surge of joy he recognised the strange new feeling he was experiencing was the feeling of freedom. He quickly scarfed down the remainder of his meal; there was someone he had to write to.


	4. TNott

Theodore Nott  
post-Battle (summer)

From the roof of the High Tower he watched as the Aurors swarmed the distant manor and disappeared inside. They could search as much as they liked but anything worth keeping he had cleared out months ago. He thought about his mother's porcelain and wondered if it would survive their search--but he wasn't optimistic given how the Aurors loathed his father.

The wind whipped around the tower and he squeezed his thighs more tightly around the gable slates. He knew that he was acting insane: sitting disillusioned on a fidelius protected wizard's tower...but there was no one to see. Literally no one, now that his whole family was dead. 

He could feel the letter crinkling where he'd stashed it in his pocket. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall had invited him back to take his NEWTs along with a cohort of other students whose schooling had been 'disrupted' the previous year. He wasn't sure yet if he wanted to go back. Vaguely he wondered which, if any, of his classmates would be returning. Well, not Vince, he supposed. 

He cast a warming charm over himself and then let himself think about the other houses. There would be plenty of bad blood. Did he want to spend the year dodging curses? He was so tired of pain. But maybe there would be others of his year-mates who would be back. He knew that he was speculating about the Gryffindors. Then his apathy evaporated with the shock of realisation. The Mudblood was almost sure to be there. He felt the certainty of his decision take him. Yes he would go back too because ... well, he wasn't obliged to say.


	5. HGranger

Hermione  
post-Battle (British summertime, but geographically situated in Australia)

"Clu-uh-uh-tch! Shift Down!" Hermione ordered. Harry forced the juddering car from third gear back to first and then coasted to a stop. Hermione was slightly put out; it had taken her father days of patient instruction to get her to the point that Harry was at basically minutes after she had ceded the driver's seat to him.

"That's brilliant!" Harry crowed and she felt herself reluctantly smiling back. They had yet to find her parents and she was running out of ideas, but even as she fretted Harry seemed to be thriving: under the clear sunlight and vast Australian landscape he seemed to be shaking free of the past year. He always had been extraordinarily resilient, but even the jet lag hadn't much fazed him.

Now they were sitting in an old banger of a car on a dusty side-road somewhere between Melbourne and Sydney. It was a cool autumn day and the blue sky stretched across a horizon that was marked by scrub brush and nothing else.

Their last stop at a small town dental practice had been another dead end. Hermione's distress as they got back on the highway had worried Harry enough that he suggested she pull over. Now their impromptu driving lesson had mostly distracted her from her spiraling self-reproach.

"We're still more than three hundred miles from the city, it's probably safe if you want to keep driving." Hermione teased. She leaned forward to fiddle with the radio dial trying to get anything other than sports-talk, but Harry didn't answer: his gaze was fixed on the horizon.

"Hermione," he asked, "do you see that?"

She followed his gaze.

"The bird?" she wondered, squinting uncertainly at a distant speck.

"I think it's an owl."

Hermione frowned skeptically. They sat for a few minutes in silence, watching it fail to get any larger then Harry announced that he was going to drive up.

"Go on, then," Hermione said, "show me how it's done."

Harry playfully patted the dashboard of the car.

"Don't mock, Hermione," he answered. "You're not going to stall on me, are you, girl?" he asked of the car.

Hermione giggled, and wasn't surprised when they drove off again without a hiccup.

They trundled across the plain. A passing gull had Hermione exclaiming, but Harry's eye was firmly fixed on the horizon and he continued on. As they got closer the object finally sharpened in Hermione's vision; it was a white shimmer that was strobing in and out of existence.

"It's like it keeps getting farther away the closer we get," Harry said. "I'm going to try to catch up with it."

Before Hermione had time to protest, Harry had revved the engine through to sixth. The noise level in the cab was deafening and the whole car was shaking. They were bouncing wildly over potholes and Hermione clung to her seat and shrieked. She tried to tell Harry that the car couldn't take it, but she was shouting over the engine and the radio and Harry's whooping, and then a gentle curve in the road suddenly brought them alongside the shining white mirage.

"STOP!" Hermione screamed. She had recognised it as Ron's patronus. The little dog's mouth was opening and closing in an unheard yap as it kept pace with the car. "It must have been off the ley line and was still trying to reach us, all the way from Devon!" She cranked open the window and Harry slowed down. Over the roaring of the wind and the squealing of the brakes they heard Ron's desperate voice shout, "HIDE! Gob--" then the road suddenly curved again and the dog snapped out of existence.

"NO!" Hermione cried, "Harry you have to back up!" The car was still still squealing to a stop.

"I'm trying," he said, frantically pulling at the gear shift, "I don't know how--" but Hermione had already opened the car door and was running back the way they had come.

He got out to chase after Hermione, who had stopped a few dozen meters away, panting. "I heard it again, that was the whole message," she said, "we didn't miss anything." Then as Harry was opening his mouth to answer she grabbed him and with a disorienting swirl apparated them both away.

They landed and Harry stumbled heavily against Hermione, "Where's your cloak, Harry?" she gasped. She watched him frown at the miles of empty landscape that was indistinguishable from the miles of empty outback that they had been driving through for days. He spotted the car in the distance, idling loudly with all its doors splayed open.

He pointed at it.

"It's in my trunk, Hermione. But hold on--" he danced away from her arm as she reached for him again, "there's nothing to hide from out here. What could Ron be warning us about?"

Hermione looked nervously around at the empty land. They listened to the reassuring sounds of nature and felt the cool wind as it blew over them. Distantly, they could hear the grinding rumble of the car.

"Oh, I guess you must be right," she finally said. "But Harry, we've got to find somewhere we can connect with the floo. We just have to find out what's going on!"


	6. RWeasley

Ron  
post-Battle (summertime; a pub in Diagon Alley)

"Another drink for my boys!" the red-faced wizard called. As had been happening all evening this triggered a series of hip, hip, hurrahs across the floor of the pub. At the centre of the hubbub sat Ron and Seamus who, far beyond the point of tipsiness, were leaning together to stay upright.

It had started as an ordinary evening out. Seamus and Ron had just wanted to chat about Quidditch, life, and maybe suss out whether or not the other was planning on going back to Hogwarts in the fall, but someone had recognised Ron and sent over a full rhyton of beer: "He escaped Gringott's on the back of a dragon!" the friendly wizard announced to the pub. 

Somewhere around the third free round, the night out had become a fully-fledged "Voldemort's Dead" party. The crowd was braying with ill-contained joy.

"Just let me shake your hand," a portly, middle-aged wizard bellowed as he shook first Seamus, then Ron's hands. "Hero of the world, this one," he called out into the crowd which was too loud and too soused to take much notice, though the nearest drinkers raised their pints once more.

Just then a terrible rattling tremor shook the pub. Glasses tumbled to the floor and mostly bounced, like the suddenly unbalanced patrons who were holding them. Shouts and screams and the sound of one glass shattering replaced the previous roar of conversation. Seamus was shaken from his stool and fell to the ground. He grunted as Ron landed atop him.

A second tremor shook the pub.

From his vantage lying on his back, Ron could see out through the large windows into the street where the street lamps were burning brightly. There was nothing to see, the street was empty and quiet. He strained to find an attacker and watched as the gas lamps at the ends of the lamp posts gently rocked back and forth. It triggered a memory, a reminder of another time the earth had shaken him...

"Earthquake!" he shouted into the terrified silence of the pub. 

There was a collective gasp of recognition and the crowd breathed out a laugh--nature held fewer terrors for magic users than a dark wizard.

"He's saved us again!" someone called triggering another round of hurrahs and the chatter resumed, tremors forgotten.

*

Ron awoke to a strange sound. It sounded like a tinny echo. "--oooOOOn!" It said.

He pushed his aching head deeper under the pillows. 

"--oooOOOn!" It called again, this time accompanied by a furious bundle of elf that landed on him and began pummeling at his shoulder with tiny fists. 

"Weasley must wake up!" the little elf shouted. "Master Harry is calling from Opposites and Weasley must speak with him!"

"Go away, Kreacher!" Ron groaned. 

Next to him the shapeless mass of blankets resolved itself into Seamus who whispered, "Just bloody go see what the bloody hell he wants and stop making such a bloody racket!"

Reluctantly Ron dragged himself over to the floo and blinked blearily into the flames.

Hermione's face shone greenly back at him and then bulged oddly outwards, the focus settling on her mouth. 

"Hermione?" Ron asked. "Where's Harry, and what's wrong with your face?"

"--my face! Nothing is--Australian wizard connected the local system up--floo--" Hermione's mouth answered. Ron rested his aching head against the fireplace and shut his eyes.

"--need to know about your warning--" Hermione was saying and Ron tried blearily to follow.

"What warning?" he asked.

"Your Patronus Ron! We got your Patro--" the connection cut out again.

"What Patronus?" Ron asked again. "I didn't send you any Patronus. I was out with Seamus last night and..." he groaned 

"Your Patronus!" Hermione's bulging mouth shouted tinnily and Ron recoiled.

"No! I never sent..." he trailed off. "I think there was an earthquake at the pub last night." 

"An earthquake?! But you--fine?"

"Yeah, I don't remember sending you a Patronus though. Hey, is Harry with you?"

"You don't--" but Hermione's giant mouth was replaced by Harry's smile.

"Hey mate," Harry said.

"Good to see you, Harry. You would not believe how popular we were at the--" but Ron cut himself off as the connection disappeared with a strange gargle and a flash of blue light.

Ron rested his cheek against the cool stonework and groaned at the pain in his head. He waited some time for the connection to be re-established but nothing further happened. Eventually he re-opened his eyes and startled at the too close face of Kreacher, who was staring back at him.

"Weasley needs to go back to bed," the elf said, firmly pulling him to his feet.

"Thanks, Kreacher," Ron croaked, gratefully. House-elves were Merlin sent, he thought, Hermione had no idea what she was on about. He flinched at the memory of her giant mouth bulging out at him from the floo. Merlin but his head was pounding, he thought, dropping back into his bed in Grimmauld Place where Seamus lay snoring. As his head hit the pillow he had a passing thought: maybe he didn't really want another year of Hogwarts.


	7. TNott

Theo  
Summer; somewhere in the North

The air inside the cafe was warm and smelled strongly of roasted coffee. Outside the rain was drizzling down and it was hard to see the street through the mullioned panes of the windows.

With trembling hands, highly conscious of his every gesture and the eyes that must surely be watching his movements, he fumbled for a five pound note.

"Thanks, luv," the Muggle said. "Can I get you anything else? We've just pulled the scones out...?"

He shook his head, then opted for more interaction and answered "No thank you." He was mortified to hear his voice squeak and cleared his throat, but the Muggle was already looking to the next customer.

He tried to control his breathing and calm his nerves. Carefully he lifted the cup and walked over to an empty corner of the cafe. It was with relief that he sank into the cushioned chair and surreptitiously looked around the cafe: no one was watching him.

So he had done it! If he could buy coffee then he could pass! Now he could study them at his leisure.

He sipped the drink. Eugh! This brackish swill was what they drank? Maybe the DeeEeez hadn't been entirely wrong about their level of sophistication.

He watched as a customer at the side table added cream and a packet of crystals to the drink.

Well, he thought, rising with his cup to do the same, it couldn't make it taste any worse.


	8. LLovegoodI,II

Luna[I,II]  
Summer; [outside Hogsmeade, Ottery St Catchpole] 

"It's like he doesn't even realise he was gone for ten months," Ginny said. "Like, he doesn't realise that he left us at Hogwarts to fight while he just disappeared with Ron and Hermione. And I get that he was saving the world, I really do. I know how.." she trailed off and groaned with frustration, "flakey I sound. But I really can't just go back to the way things were before--

She teased her fingers through Luna[II]s long blonde hair and started pulling it up into a crown of braids.

"--like holding hands and kissing," Ginny said, and snorted. "We almost died, yeah? Fred--" she choked and then continued, "Fred did die!"

"And that's another thing. It's like he can't understand that Fred's gone! He says things like 'We'll see him on the other side,' and I just--"

Luna[II] leaned her head back into Ginny's hands and let her mind wander away from the conversation. She knew that a) Ginny was unlikely to say anything she hadn't already said during her previous visits and b) her own inattention would go unnoticed.

Luna[I] was crouched in the yews by the main gates into Hogwarts. She had been surveilling since the scintillating marsh tits had started their migration during the full moon. That was entirely the wrong time, and Azorian had told her to watch for the coming signs so It had to be coming soon.

She saw Professor McGonagall limping down the path accompanied by a wizard in the black shroud of the Department of Mysteries.

"I have already prevented anyone from entering the grounds--" McGonagall was saying, and Luna[I] couldn't stop herself from smiling: the path through the forest was as unsecure as ever. "--and as you've seen now, the pockets are occurring more frequently." 

Luna[I] frowned. What was McGonagall talking about? But even as she wondered, out of the corner of her eye she could see a shimmering distortion of space around one of the battlements. She focused on it fully and was astonished to see large limestone fragments fly into the air to mend the battle damage to the wall. 

"I had hoped they would dissipate before the start of the school year but as their frequency is increasing," the wizard bowed his head in agreement, "I will rescind the invitations I have send out to the students." Luna[I] jerked. This! This was what she had been sent to prevent.

The pair had reached the main gates and had paused for McGonagall to spell them open. They were saying their goodbyes and Luna[I] could feel her heart racing. As Professor McGonagall wearily trudged back up the path towards the castle Luna[I] followed her. 

The atmosphere was heavy, creeping, and there was a strong smell of ozone in the air. She watched as a pocket of distortion opened up in front of them. 

"Miss Lovegood!" Professor McGonagall suddenly thundered, alarmed by the unexpected sight of her pupil, "What on Merlin's gifted plane are you doing here!?"

"Oh," Luna[I] started, and made a vague hand gesture, "Oh, Professor, there's something just over your shoulder," she pointed at the pocket of space. As Professor McGonagall spun around to look, Luna[I] reached out and pushed her in.


	9. Granger

Auckland, New Zealand (British summertime)

They stumbled in from the sunny patio bar after a day of playing the friendly, lush expats. 'This is what we've always wanted,' they would explain to anyone who would listen: 'we've retired! and how lovely to be in the safest place on earth, hahah! Just what we'd always wanted,' they would repeat. But there was an edge of discomfort in Monica's mind: hadn't there been a period, one that she couldn't remember just now, of shared ambition and the smell of fluoride?

When they unlocked their door to their suite there was a girl lying on their bed. She scrambled up, all smiles and fly-away hair and looking just like Wendell. It reminded her, Monica thought, of all the other times the girl had smiled sheepishly up at her. 

The girl brandished a baton and barked out a cry and then just stood there waiting. 

Oh, Monica thought. Oh. She was remembering a whole life that she had already lived. Remembering her pregnancy, and her tiny toddler and all of the impossible events that had followed. And all those strangely robed men who would turn up afterwards, but they were less important than the feeling she had for this girl that she was only now remembering. But it was all coming back and she looked at the girl--her daughter--who was holding a stick--a wand--and Monica trembled. 

Next to her, her husband was reaching for her. He looked pale and sick. 

"You've come back?" he asked the girl, their daughter. No wait! Another memory: there had been that night, two decades ago now, when they'd had a gas leak at the surgery, and when Ruth had died of a heart attack. But no, it had never been a gas leak; there had been those thugs in masks. She gasped as the terror came flooding back. She hadn't been able to shout, to move her limbs. She remembered turning her eyes to the silently screaming figure of her husband on the floor as the white faced monsters tore into her body. 

With a moan she turned her face into her husband's chest. He was shaking, his arms had locked around her and he was gripping her almost painfully hard.

"Why are you here?" he asked the girl who looked like him.

She looked surprised and hurt by their reaction. 

"The war is over," she said. "It's safe for you to come home now." Her voice was trembling, this clearly wasn't what she had been expecting.

"To just go back to the surgery?" her husband demanded, furiously. And Not-Monica understood his anger. How could they go just go back to that place? She wouldn't be able to go in without thinking about Ruth and that that eerie green light, and how ever had she managed to work there for so many years, cleaning, treating, working like a robotic-Pollyanna.

The girl flinched. 

"We sold the surgery, dad."' 

Her husband let out an exhalation like silent bitter laughter.

"Yes, it's coming back to me now," he said. 

Not-Monica understood his tone: she was remembering all sorts of other things now too, how she'd been persuaded by those strange professors to allow Hermione to go to boarding school across the country (at age eleven!), how somehow she had allowed Hermione to spend her vacations in the magical world, and then how in Hermione's fifth year there had been that monstrous visit from the people who claimed to work for the Ministry of Magic.

"Why do you still have that out?" Not-Wendell asked, jerking his head angrily toward the girl--their daughter's--wand. She slid it up her sleeve and out of sight. 

"I think you should leave now," he suggested, but he didn't sound hopeful that she would listen. Not-Monica felt a reflexive sense of protection, but whether it was for her husband or her daughter, she couldn't tell.

The girl was crying.

"Please, let me explain," she pleaded. 

"Yes," Not-Monica said. 

Not-Wendell relented.

"Alright," he said, shrugging helplessly as he collapsed onto a chair and dropped his head into his hands.

The girl--their daughter--had started talking, about an evil Dark Wizard and Death Eaters, the collapse of the Ministry and the search for Horcruxes, the Muggleborn Registration Commission and the battle that had killed so many of her friends. She was still crying, and they were too, but now she was seated in between them, and her father was stroking her hair.

"What a bloody nightmare," he said. She watched as their daughter laughed through her tears. 

Her father leaned his head back with his eyes closed and Hermione's expression was stricken when she saw that he was crying.

"I'm so sorry, dad."

Hermione's mother had felt her blood pressure rising throughout Hermione's recital, she stood now and began angrily pacing around the suite. 

"This isn't the first time our memories were changed," she finally bit out, feeling furious. She was remembering their young receptionist whose green-lit death had been blocked from her memory for years, but it was haunting her now. 

"Over and over and over again the magical world has meddled in our heads! They've messed with our memories!" She knew that she was wildly out of control but her rage overrode her composure. "And by you too! My own daughter!" Her voice crescendoed, "Hermione ... if you don't leave right now I will do something we both regret!"


	10. TNott

Theodore  
mid-August, somewhere in the North

 _Merlin buggering fuck,_ Theo thought. He mindlessly shoveled another handful of Pop Corn into his mouth. How had it never occurred to him that the celestial spheres might be something like rocks hurtling through the sky! How had he never visualized what the vast and empty cosmos might look like--never mind what it might be like to travel through!

Those muggles had balls of titanium to strap themselves into rockets with nothing but an artificial bubble-head to protect themselves. And without even an unbreakable charm! 

He crunched another mouthful of buttery kernels and thought about the Immortal Dragon of Loch Ness. He knew that she was the last of her aquatic sub-species, but could her clan have all been killed by an asteroid--what had those fictional muggles called it?--a planet killer? He felt a tightness in his chest at their kinship and veered from the thought.

But anything that dangerous could destroy all of wizardkind, too. Sinistra had never mentioned them. Did anyone even know they existed? Maybe they were something the Muggles had invented along with electricity and jazz and--

"Uh, beg your pardon," a thin youth in a striped shirt interrupted his musings, "we're closing now, you'll have to leave."

Theo looked at him. It was a calculated risk, but the Ministry was in absolute chaos. He reached for his wand:

" _Imperio_ ," he said. "Show me the Armageddon again."


	11. HGranger

mid-August; Auckland, New Zealand

"If we're talking about the morality of it," Mr. Granger said, "imagine that they're actually extraterrestrials--"

"I will not!" Mrs. Granger interrupted him. "She's still _our_ daughter, even if _you_ were the one who wanted children." 

Outside, hidden in the tall rhododendrons of the hotel garden and listening via an extendible ear, Harry shifted uncomfortably. He turned to look at his friend: Hermione's stricken expression matched her roiling emotions. Her mother's feeling of betrayal had caused her parents to spend the day crying and arguing about what to do. Hermione was miserable to the point of nausea but she couldn't force herself away from their conversation: she had spent the entire day disillusioned among the bushes. 

Harry had eventually come to find her with a burger and chips. 

Inside Mr. Granger had side-stepped his wife's accusation and had returned to his previous point, "Does anyone else even know this is happening?" he asked.

This had been their focus since Harry had shown up with supper: Mrs. Granger had finally stopped ruminating on her own feelings and had started wondering about just how extensively the Statute of Secrecy was applied. The Grangers were now trying to figure out what impact magical interference had on their own world. 

"You remember Jeremiah..." she suggested, "...he might know. Assuming he's still working for the _Civil Service_."  
Hermione cringed again. Back when her parents trusted her, her father had confided that in Uni some of their friends had been approached by MI-5. The Civil Service was obviously coded language, but it was amazing that her mother was being so discreet even when she should have had no reason to be. Her mother was so morally uncompromising; once she'd decided on the correct thing nothing would shake her from that conviction. But what would that mean for Hermione? Or for her relationship with her family? And what would that mean for her mother's previous promise to hold to the Statute of Secrecy.

That was what Hermione had to stay and find out. But it was too much to try to explain to Harry in hushed whispers between crying jags, so when he tried again to get her to leave she just waved him off. 

Her parents seemed to be circling around to some sort of conclusion, born of exhaustion rather than conviction. 

"We'll have to talk to him. It's insane to even think that Magic might exist outside of their knowledge, but if it does...someone needs to know."

"Yes...someone needs to know."

Hermione gasped: so they had decided to reveal magic. It was the worst possible outcome. They wouldn't just be breaking the Statute of Secrecy and their promise to her, they would also be putting themselves in danger. It wouldn't be something that the Ministry could ignore, they would either have to obliviate her parents yet again, or they might just be disappeared like so many other parents of Muggleborns who hadn't been heard from since Voldemort's regime. It was still chaos at the Ministry, who knew what vengeance a rogue Obliviator might wreak. She would not let anyone magical touch her parents again.

"I can't let them tell anyone!" she hissed to Harry. "It has to be me, I have to obliviate them again."

He looked nonplussed. 

"They'll be vulnerable to the Ministry, but they were happy as Monica and Wendell..." she pleaded for his understanding.

"Hermione, this doesn't seem like the right time to decide," he answered. 

"I have to, they aren't like the Dursleys, Harry! My parents are too smart, and they're well connected. With the time difference between here and London they could very well make a phone call right now..." Hermione bit her lip as she imagined the consequences. They'd be painted as crazy conspiracy theorists, they would never be able to run a dental practice again, she could imagine her mother's face on the front cover of the Daily Mail and how humiliating it would be--but her mother would bear it if she decided it was the right thing to do.

No, she couldn't let that happen. They really had been happy as Monica and Wendell. They could live out their lives in New Zealand. She would make sure that they were supported. Even if she had to take on the meanest of roles at the Ministry she would protect her parents from their future as mind-wiped zombies or as the laughing stock of the tabloid press. 

"I have to do it, Harry. I just want them to be able to live normal lives."

"That was what Dumbledore said to me."

Hermione hesitated, not entirely understanding. "But he always did want the best for you. And I know he loved you, Harry, just like I love them. You have to understand," she pleaded.

He shook his head, but he still helped Hermione to her feet and cast the unlocking charm on the window latch. When she clambered noisily through to her parents' room he also cast the body binding charm on them. Then with careful wandwork, Hermione returned her parents to their previous state of happy oblivion. 

*

The next day dawned jarringly bright and beautiful. Nothing in the landscape reflected the trauma of Hermione's previous day. Disgusted by the impassivity of Nature she buried her head under the blankets and went back to sleep. Mid-afternoon she stumbled past the empty bunks of her youth hostel dorm to the washroom. Harry was nowhere to be seen. She grabbed a handful of trail-mix and went back to sleep. 

The next day found her similarly inert. 

"Hej, Harry! Let boring girl sleep. Come to beach!" the Swedish travellers called.

"Sorry, Hermione, just ignore them." Harry said.

"No, you should go," she answered. "I'm just not ready to do anything yet." She met his steady gaze as sincerely as she could, but inside she still felt like weeping. Was it better to have lost her parents to Death Eaters or to her own charm? Obviously the charm, because this way they were still alive, but why did it feel so wrong? She let her eyes drift closed again.

By the third day Harry had had enough. 

"You can't stay here forever, Hermione. We're all going to see some special stones today, come with us! Kent bought bus tickets."

Hermione didn't register the process of dressing or how she managed to get out the door. She dropped uncaring into the cushioned seat of the coach and let her head fall against the glass. Why would her mother have waited until she was in her forties to have a child that she didn't want? How many more defeatist questions would she have to ask herself before she felt like less of an unwanted miserable excuse for a human being. No, not human: a witch.

She dropped into sleep again.

"Hey, Hermione, we're here." Harry announced, shaking her shoulder. Through the glass she could see that they had reached a beautiful stretch of coastline.

"No, you go ahead. I'll be along in a while," she answered.

"Harry!" called an impatient voice, "We are going!"

He reached over Hermione to slide open the top pane of the window and then left.

Hermione stayed motionless, watching the rolling waves crash against the shore and the myriad tourists parade around the boulders that were scattered across the sand. The humidity in the air was making her skin feel clammy. She didn't want to be here on this sandy coast. She wanted... Ron.

A handsome brown owl swooped in through the open window and landed on the seat opposite her. Impatiently it stuck out its leg bearing a letter addressed to her. Hermione instantly recognised the handwriting: Professor McGonagall had written to her! She tore into the envelope while the owl indignantly hopped away.

Oh! The school would be re-opening! Hogwarts was offering a redressment year! Oh, they could go back and everything would be as it had ever been. She leapt up to go find Harry. They could finally go home.


	12. NLongbottom (1 of 6)

Neville  
mid-August; London, UK.

Neville stumbled through the floo and emerged in the Leaky Cauldron. On the far side of the pub, near the portal into the Muggle world, Tom stood behind his counter polishing a glass.

From his earliest youth Neville had been using the Leaky, but in all that time he had never seen the other man anywhere but at his bar. He watched as Tom slid the cloth round and round the glass. He had the impression of timelessness, as though Tom was an unchanging simulacrum and the inn was a stage. He could come back in a century and Tom would still be there holding the same glass and deterring Muggles with the same Dissuasion charms. Neville shuddered and turned away, his mind already on other things. He couldn’t wait to get to Fortescue's! It was almost time! 

The blank back wall of the pub was marked by several gently worn stones. Reaching out with hesitation--as he was not normally the one who opened the passage--he tapped his wand against each one. To his relief, the wall released a gentle exhalation and peeled back before he'd touched them all. Through the newly formed archway, Neville looked out at the medieval architecture of the courtyard, and beyond that, Diagon Alley. 

Although it was now mid-August, the windows and lamp-posts were still hung with bunting from the victory parties that had followed the Battle at Hogwarts. Their colours were starting to fade but it was obvious that they were predominantly crimson and gold. 

With a bubbling sense of excitement, he stepped through and was immediately assailed by a cacophony of noises and scents.

“Get your snaggleberries! Snaaagle-BooOerr-eeEES!” a wizard was shouting over the yipping of tiny crups. 

" _Frigero_ and _Tergeo_ , done right here!" a witch was calling. She demonstrated by casting the ice charm on a gleaming pan and sent a stream of water bouncing off of it as tinkling ice crystals. 

Neville was swept along with the crowd of shoppers who were milling purposefully along the high street. Whole families were out carrying bundles of items between the crowded stalls and tents that filled the alley.

"Hey! Watch where yer stepping!" shouted a grey robbed wizard, protectively pulling some bundles away from Neville's feet. Looking down, Neville saw that he was standing on the edge of a blanket covered in herbal wares. In fact, the whole Alley was crowded with covered tables and blankets, all stuffed to the brim with tradable items. He saw cheeses and cured hams, potion jars and dried plants.

He took a deep breath to inhale the scent of the marketplace, and choked on the pollen of crushed sneezerpot pods. 

"Told yeh," said the older wizard. 

Neville stepped back, still sneezing. He could see that behind the bustling activity at the front of the Alley, there were still burnt out husks of buildings that had yet to be repaired, but that hadn't stopped people from setting up their tents in front of the blackened stones. It was heartening to see such cooperation, Neville thought, and he regretted not coming up to London earlier in the season. He had a huge amount of garden produce from the terraces around the house, he could have brought it to market rather than preserving it. 

Maybe _she_ would have wanted to join him, he thought. She had been really encouraging in the letters they had exchanged and he never would have begun experimenting with hops and barley if she hadn't been so enthusiastic about the ales that she was tasting abroad. But now she was back and had agreed to a date! Neville automatically reached down to check again for his money pouch and was startled to find a disillusioned hand delicately undoing his belt laces.

"Hey!" he exclaimed loudly, "Thief!" He grabbed for the hand again but was groping uselessly through empty air. 

His cries, meanwhile, had drawn the attention of the crowd. In an unusual demonstration of solidarity they rallied to his defense and started firing charms into the space around him. There was a pop of apparition and the crowd grumbled.

"Too late, they've gone now," someone said. 

Neville caught the eye of another witch. She had a practical no-nonsense demeanor but for some reason she had her wand trained on him and was frowning disapprovingly. He looked at her curiously and her wand dropped slightly, but then she broke eye contact and announced to the crowd:

"He's carrying gold."

There was a collective intake of breath. 

"What the Fudge, man!" a burly wizard ejected, he had been one of the ones casting binding charms in Neville's defense, "This is a barter zone!"

The crowd grumbled angrily and Neville took a cautious step back, but he was at the centre of a circle of outraged faces. Sensing blood, a shrill voice called out, "Look at his fancy robes!" Neville turned to look at the sunken cheeks and thin hair of the witch who had shouted. "This one's never been cursed by a Death Eater!"

He could feel the previously supportive crowd turning against him, but he had survived the Carrows and instead of quailing, Neville felt himself grow indignant. He threw his shoulders back and took a deep breath, but before he could say anything another wizard was interrupting:

"Oi! oi! oi!" It was the familiar voice of Seamus. "What's going on here?" he continued, as he and Ron muscled their way past the ring of angry faces to stand by his side.

"He's carrying gold," someone shouted.

"But he's one of ours, so back off!" Ron replied, slinging his arm across Neville's back. They were the same height now, Neville realised and he reflexively tried to shrug the arm away. Ron gripped him more firmly and the crowd grumbled. "He fought at the Battle. He faced down old Snake-face himself and killed his familiar!" 

The angry ring had relaxed and although some faces still looked agitated, most had started to return to their stalls. As the knot of people loosened, Ron and Seamus took advantage, pulling him back towards an empty building. 

"What were you thinking!?" Ron exclaimed, finally releasing his shoulder and punching him in the arm. Neville looked into their agitated faces and felt nothing but confusion and a growing sense of urgency; he didn't really have time for this.

"I have no idea what that was," he said, and falling back on reflexive politeness he added, "and it's good to see you..." Somewhat grudgingly he continued, "...and thanks for helping. But I really am in a bit of a hurry--" he tried to step away.

"No wait!" Seamus said, grabbing at him again. "Don't you know about the New Dawn?" 

Neville frowned.

"Oh, mate!" Ron chuckled, "You are so obscured!" 

"It's our Reconstruction Movement," Seamus explained, proudly. "We're helping to rebuild the Ministry and clear out the Dark sympathizers. And while Gringotts is down we're also running the Sharing Space." Neville's confusion must have shown because he added. "That's where we found you. It's a trade- and barter-only area, to help out during the gold shortage."

Neville's feeling of perplexity grew. "What do you-- Why's Gringotts down?" he asked.

"Because the goblins are still repairing the lower vaults after You-Know-Who's Dark artifact did all that damage...You remember? When Ron and the others escaped on the dragon?" Neville watched as Ron's face went red at the explanation.

"Anyway, the bank is operating at reduced capacity--it's caused a shortage of Galleons," Seamus continued."...this is all in the Daily; don't you read it?" he reproached.

Neville shrugged. The last time he had touched newsprint it was to lay it under the raised vegetable beds as a weed-barrier.

"So where were you headed before we rescued you?" Ron asked. "Come for your Hogwarts supplies?"

"No..." Neville started, reluctantly. "I was going to Fortescue's."

"Excellent!" Ron exclaimed. "I could do with a snack."

"C'mon then," Seamus continued. "We'll keep you out of trouble." 

Feeling like he had no choice, Neville briskly set off in the direction of the ice-cream parlour. Annoyance drove his pace, but Ron kept up easily and Seamus jogged along beside them both.


	13. NLongbottom ...continued (2 of 6)

Neville ...continued.  
mid-August; Diagon Alley

The closer they got to the upmarket boutiques, the thinner the crowd became. When they drew level with Twilfit and Tattings they were in a completely deserted stretch of street. The shop fronts were dark and grimy and there was a pervading sense of gloom. In the window of one millinery a single wizard's hat sat crumpled collecting dust. 

"Don't worry," Ron reassured, "it's better past Ollivander's."

"It's just that not everyone wanted the new market," Seamus explained, "so there aren't any Cheerful Air charms here."

They continued to walk towards the bank whose gleaming marble facade loomed dramatically over the lower buildings. The thin sound of voices also began to reach them and then, with a final twist of the alley, they emerged in an open square. Neville was taken aback by the sudden surge of noise and the press of people. He gawked in amazement trying to make sense of the chaos. 

The main focus of activity seemed to be the long queue that snaked out of Gringotts' doors. It swerved around the damage to the crumpled marble stairs and stretched out over the flagstones of the square. 

The witches and wizards who were waiting had clearly settled in for the long-haul. Most were sitting or lounging in armchairs though some had full bedsteads. As Neville watched, the line began to ripple forward. A wizard near the base of the stairs hastily transfigured goat's legs onto his armchair and urged it up the steps. Nearest to Neville, a burgundy-robed witch on a lime-green bedspread was moving her wand. There was whisper of movement along the bedskirt, and hundreds of millipede feet sprang out to glide the bed forward. 

Neville tripped and stumbled heavily into Ron's back interrupting the conversation he was having with Seamus. 

"Yeah," Ron said, laughing easily at Neville's bewilderment. "It's a pretty great scene." 

The queue had settled again and Neville found it easier to focus on all the other activity that was happening around the square. There was a great communal fire-pit, where hungry witches and wizards were roasting their dinners. Someone else had created a cubic enclosure of floating balls: the adventurous could dive in and be randomly buffeted about until they were ejected. And all along the line were minstrels and musicians entertaining the crowd. 

"Dean sort of suggested it," Seamus said. "He was talking with Kingsley about Muggle busking, and then Kingley got the Ministry to fund this thing. They're calling it a Cultural Celebration."

Neville didn't know where to look, there was so much going on. Ron chuckled and grabbed his elbow to steer him around a young wizard who was arguing with his portrait artist: 

"Here what's this supposed to be!?" the wizard was sputtering indignantly. "My face looks nothing like that!"

"It's conceptual," the magi-artist explained, sincerely, "I'm channeling an impression of your essential nature--"

But that was when he saw her, as though in a silent column of silver light: the sounds and chaos dropped away from his awareness and he stumbled to a stop. She was beautiful in her gauzy white robes as she stood calmly by the entrance into Fortescue's watching the crowd. His eyes traced the profile of her cheek, the gentle curve of her smile. A strand of golden hair blew across her shoulder. He felt his heart thundering in his chest.

"Heya, Hannah!" Ron shouted, breaking his trance. She turned towards them and smiled. Neville stumbled forward, catching on to Seamus' shoulder and looking, for all the world, as though he was trying to hide behind his shorter friend.

He quickly pulled himself up as Seamus brusquely shook him off.

"Hey, watch yourself, then!" Seamus said before turning to Ron and beginning to urgently whisper. 

Ron--who had been casually inviting Hannah to join them for dinner--now turned to look in the direction that Seamus was indicating. Neville followed his gaze to see Lavender Brown and Tracey Davis seated at a table on the top patio. 

He turned back to Hannah and watched as she looked back and forth between Ron and himself with an expression of increasing confusion. Neville felt his mouth open to explain, but to his horror he heard himself stammering--

"H- h--," he watched as her beautiful lips began to frown in a moue of ... disappointment--?

"Come on, then!" Ron interrupted again as Seamus took off in the direction of a spiral staircase. "We're going to try to get seats upstairs." And leaning forward he whispered confidentially, "Seamus has got it really bad for Tracey: try not to laugh too hard." 

Neville felt his face pull into a rictus of a smile and Ron gave him an odd look.

How the magical fudge had he bollixed this up so completely, Neville wondered. He felt himself growing red and turned to ask Hannah to join him on the main floor, he wanted to tell her that that he hadn't brought a whole troop of Gryffindors along on their date, that this was all a misunderstanding...but clearly his awkwardness had confused her because she had already turned away and was delicately stepping onto the staircase after Ron.

Neville groaned in frustration and hurried after her. It would be just his luck if she ended up sitting between Seamus and Ron with himself at the far end of the table.


	14. NLongbottom ...continued (3 of 6)

Neville ...continued.  
Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and Bar

The girls had really been quite nice, Neville thought happily. Tracey had magically expanded the table to include them and--seeming to pick up on some subtlety that eluded the rest of his housemates--had cajoled him and Hannah into adjacent seats.

Early on there had been a shaky moment when Lavender had been caught eying the laces on the front of Hannah's robes. She looked ready to comment, but Tracey had interrupted with the conciliatory remark that corsetry was back in style on the continent.

"Soon, we'll be all cinched up here too, right Lav?" she prodded her friend.

Lavender made a face like she had a different opinion, but before she could say anything, she was interrupted by a loud braying laugh from Seamus. He either found the idea of corsets hilarious, or--more likely--had been overwhelmed by some imagined picture of witches in undergarments. Ron had to kick him into silence under the table while Hannah blushed in humiliation. 

It was in the resulting silence that Neville finally regained the power of speech. With uncharacteristic brashness he had loudly announced to everyone at the table--and quite possibly the whole bar--that, "She looks just beautiful!"

"Merlin save us," Ron had muttered, and ordered the first round of drinks.

Neville knew that his timing hadn't been great, and it hadn't been the exact right thing to say, but it had also been the most perfect thing that he could have come up with because shortly afterwards Hannah had scooted her chair closer to his. She had leaned comfortably into his side so that he could wrap his arm around her waist and though he had to eat the rest of his meal one-handed, he was quite pleased overall. And anyway, you only needed one hand for a beer mug.

Much of the later conversation had passed him by as he sipped his drinks and held Hannah close. He learned that Lavender and Tracey had been in adjacent beds at St. Mungo's and that Hannah's throat bobbed adorably when she downed a pint. He heard that Dean was still spending a lot of time with George doing something that annoyed both Ron and Seamus, but nothing they were up to was more interesting than the sight of Hannah's pink tongue licking foam from her upper lip.

"Wait, so, are none of you going back to Hogwarts in September?" Hannah suddenly asked, finally putting together the elements of the conversation. Now happily sozzled, everyone tried to answer her at once:

"We're just so into the Re-con-struction movement--"

"There's still so much left to do--"

"People need us, you know? They like having a symbol, sort of, of the Order and of the students who fought in the Battle," Ron enunciated, carefully.

Mention of the Battle brought a general silence to the table. Lavender seemed to pull herself up straighter, lifting her chin to show the curse scars that would never heal along one side of her face. Ron looked away. Seamus ducked his head, and Tracey lifted her glass to her lips with a hand that trembled.

Neville cleared his throat, "Actually, I've been wondering what's happening with Hogwarts. Perfs-- profos-- McGonagall didn't want me to come up in the summer to help with the grounds." He hoped he didn't sound too petulant.

No one answered.

"'M not sure," Seamus finally said. "The D-O-M was into it and then they weren't, and no one's seen McGonagall for a bit. The only thing that's certain is Kingsley isn't bothered. 

"Come by Grimmauld tonight and ask him yourself, if you want," he suggested.

The subject was dropped as the chandeliers started to rock and their drinks slid across the table. The patrons of the bar, well used by now to the low grade tremors that regularly shook the Alley started up a chorus of "whoa, whoa, Whoa!"

Ron laughed and when the rocking finally stopped began the chant of 'Hip, hip, hurrah!' that had become rote after a tremor event.

"What was that!?" Neville asked, with wild eyes as he loosened his grip on the table.

"Minor quake, nawt to worry," Seamus answered. "They've been happening all month."

"Hey," Tracey suggested, "should we go see what's on in the Square?"

*

They drifted aimlessly along with the crowd outside. Neville felt like he was floating through a chaotic dreamscape as they wandered tipsily past the musicians and the expulsonauts, and into a bottleneck of people who were clustered around a floating Punch and Judy stage. The brightly coloured platform was hanging in the air, tilted over the craning heads of the audience so that spectators could see the the stage.

Following their gazes Neville saw two house-elves awkwardly balanced on the platform. They were clinging to the backdrop with one hand but in the other hand they were each brandishing a fake wand.

"The power of the Elder Wand is mine!" shrieked the elf in the black cowled robe waving a white rod in the air.

"No!" squeaked the second elf, who was wearing large round glasses, "I am its true Master!"

There was a bang and the stage was briefly obscured by red and green smoke. They could hear coughing and the smoke dissipated to reveal the Voldemort elf clutching at its chest. It was sliding off the stage and then with a blood-curling shriek it dropped headlong into the crowd. 

Neville expected to hear the pop of elf-apparition but was taken aback to hear a solid thump as it landed heavily on the cobblestones. 

There was a shocked pause, then the crowd began jeering. One small boy near the front ran forward and kicked the elf. The elf grunted, but seemed to take that as its cue as it stood and reached up to be helped back onto the stage. The crowd started cheering, the elves bowed and the curtain dropped.

Neville shut his open mouth and glanced over at Hannah whose own mouth was hidden behind her hand. He couldn't read her expression. On her other side Ron had started laughing again and Tracey's lips were quirking north. Seamus though, was looking perturbed, 

"Ron, Ron!" he whispered loudly "The Elder Wand, does Ha--", he started asking. But Ron tapped him in the ribs and and shook his head. 

"Later," Ron muttered. 

"But Harry's got it?" Seamus whispered insistently. 

Ron shrugged noncommittally as Tracey announced, 

"Ah, look, they're coming back on!" 

The curtain lifted again on the elves who had changed out of their previous costumes. Now their floppy ears were hidden under wigs: one was bright red and the second was a mass of brown curls that barely fit within the proscenium arch.

Tracey shrieked with laughter.

"Good Gryffindor!" Lavender exclaimed, highly amused. 

Hannah on the other hand looked like she had come to a conclusion and it was making her very unhappy. "They've just reminded everyone in the world that Harry has the most powerful wand in existence!" she exclaimed, indignantly. "That's so ..." words seemed to fail her, "...foolish," she concluded, helplessly. 

To Neville's horror, her eyes began to fill with tears.

"Does Harry even know this is happening?" she wondered out loud, leaning into Neville. "What's he going to do when he comes back?" she demanded while voices in the audience around them made shushing sounds.

Ron shifted uncomfortably. 

"I hadn't really thought of that? Everyone's always after him..." he hiccuped quietly behind his hand, but then brightened. "Actually, he already got rid of the wand. Put it somewhere safe." He chuckled grimly. "I don't think anyone will ever be able to win it off the one who has it now." He brushed his hands together as though dusting himself of the concern.

"Come on, everyone." he continued, turning away from them. "Let's go see who else's crashing at Grimmauld tonight!" 

As the group moved away in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, Neville trailed slowly after them, waiting for Hannah who didn't seem ready to move. She was muttering quietly to herself and looking vaguely off into space. 

"Oh hollering holly-imps," she said vacantly. She took a step and stopped. "Oh sweet Lady Myrtle, oh my, oh my, oh my--" she reached frantically for his arm then looked blankly into the middle distance. 

"Hannah, are you alright?" he asked. He brought his other hand up to cover her slight fingers where they were digging into the well defined muscles of his forearm.

"Oh, Neville!" she exclaimed, finally refocusing on him, "I think I know where Harry left the wand, and if it's where I think it is, I really don't think that it's safe!"


	15. NLongbottom ...continued (4 of 6)

Neville ... continued.  
Diagon Alley and Grimmauld Place

Neville could feel his eyebrows lifting doubtfully and immediately wished he could take back the gesture. Hannah was already stepping away from him and he instantly missed the feel of her hand on his arm; if only his thoughts weren't so transparent! But she was reminding him of that time when that prisoner had escaped from Azkaban: she'd actually thought that Sirius Black was sneaking into Hogwarts as a flowering shrub.

(At the time he had taken her seriously and to this day he occasionally wished that he could transform into a tree, but nothing in the Herbalogia suggested it was possible. Oh, as a disguise, maybe, but nothing like an animagus transformation.)

Hannah meanwhile seemed to have braced herself for an argument. Seeing the set of her jaw and her look of fierce determination, Neville felt a thrill of delight that she cared enough to try to convince him. 

"It's really important," she was saying, "if I'm right then anyone who knows the right magic could get the wand. And some people who know the right magic will have Dark Motives!" 

She blushed furiously, but continued:

"Harry is definitely in danger. Maybe not today, but soon. And then we all might be!" 

It was hard to look away from her. Her limpid blue eyes were staring so fixedly into his. Anyway, it wasn't like he wanted to disagree with her. He supposed that it really didn't matter whether her idea was reasonable--and it was hard to argue against securing the Elder Wand--or complete rubbish. He'd go along with it because she wanted him on her side. And he wanted to be on her side. 

"But where do you think it is?" 

Hannah was chewing her lip. "I think that it's still at Hogwarts. I'll need to check with Ron to be sure, though." 

Neville frowned. "But who is taking care of it then? Ron said--"

"I know! He said _the one who has it now_! But who was the only one who was powerful enough to wield it before?"

"Do you mean-- You think..." Neville trailed off slowly. _The only one who **was**_ , she'd said. He hoped she wasn't implying what he thought she was. 

"You mean the Headmaster?" Neville looked at her worriedly. "Hannah, he isn't ... he isn't here anymore."

"Oh I know, I know, Neville!" Hannah dashed angry tears away from her eyes. "You don't have to tiptoe around it! He's dead! People die, my mother died! At some point, but hopefully not for a long long time, you and I will die. But--" she trailed off and looked vacantly away. "Oh, I really didn't want to talk about this right away."

Was she referring to her mother's death again? That was completely understandable and actually, Neville would prefer not to be talking about it right now either.

"Right, right." He interjected, hurriedly. "So, let's find Ron then." 

Grabbing her hand he set off again towards the Leaky Cauldron. 

"They were on their way to Grimmauld Place," he said, "we should be able to catch them up."

Hannah squeezed his hand.

*

They stumbled through the floo and into the dimly lit entrance hall of an old dark townhouse. Neville had never been to Grimmauld Place before, but he recognised the feel of the place. Like him, Hannah was also responding to the house, straightening her posture as she glanced around at the antique trappings of the neglected family home.

An ancient house-elf hobbled out to greet them. 

"The Weasley is in the library with company," it barked out before breaking into a dry cough. "Follow," it croaked, beckoning them forward with a knobbly claw. "Follow."

"Thank you," Neville answered, even as he felt the slight compulsion of home-magic settling over him. 

Hannah's hand was now firmly settled in the crook of his elbow as they instinctively formalised their manners.

They walked the length of the hall, past the grand stair and toward a heavy wooden door, then Neville felt Hannah stiffen. She was squinting up at the dimly glowing light fixture. Illuminated by the weak light he could see a faint haze drifting out from the gap above the door.

"Dragon's Breath," she whispered, and Neville thought she was cursing again. "Oh my word, Tracey must have brought it! Cast a filter charm, or we'll be here all night."

Neville hastened to follow her advice as the door of the library swung open. He stepped into the poorly lit room and glanced round at its shadowy corners. The walls were lined with sparsely filled bookshelves and as his eyes adjusted to the gloom he identified the pattern on the torn wallpaper. Asphodel blossoms. Well that was cheerful.

Around the room, sprawled comfortably on the sofas, were their friends. Tracey had kicked off her sandals and was stretched out on a low settee. She was inhaling a thick purple smoke through a long thin cigarette holder and Neville belatedly realised that this was what Hannah had been warning him about. 

Tracey smiled vaguely in their direction and passed the holder down to Seamus. He was seated on the carpet leaning back against the settee; his left cheek was perilously close to Tracey's bright red toenails.

"Oh, there you are!" Lavender exclaimed. She was sitting on the other long sofa in the room, but unlike her friend, she was still upright and looking slightly less at ease. 

"We were wondering where you lot had ended up," She giggled with deliberate nonchalance and glanced at the large dark wizard who was half slumbering next to her on the couch. He smiled back at her from under sleepy eyelids and stretched his arm out along the back of the sofa.

Neville watched with disbelief as Lavender settled in against him: the Right Honourable Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Be delicate," Kingsley rumbled, and for a moment Neville thought that the Minister was talking about his fingers on Lavender's bare neck. But then he realised that Kingsley was actually talking to Ron, who had finished grinding a mass of black ore and was now levitating it out of the mortar. 

The room watched as the sparkling black powder rose to eye-level and then higher. Ron was concentrating fiercely and beads of sweat were begining to form on his brow. Then with a rapid motion he cast " _Incendio!_ "

The powder, which had begun falling as soon as Ron released the levitation charm, caught fire. But it burned very differently from a piece of parchment: it seemed to come alive as the individual particles raced through the air looking for each other. They clumped together into a soft mass of light that burned brighter for a moment and then abruptly extinguished itself leaving a spherical cloud of dense purple smoke.

Ron let out a sigh of relief. 

"Not bad," Kingsley pronounced, and floated the sphere over towards himself. 

Neville had been watching all of this with a mixture of fascination and incredulity. He had never tried any narcotics--Gran wasn't in favour of altered realities--but also, that kind of potion had never made its way into the Gryffindor Common Room. As he glanced over at Hannah, who seemed completely disinterested in the proceedings, he felt an inkling that the other houses might have had slightly more access.

Ron had settled back on the settee with an air of immense satisfaction and was pouring himself a drink. 

The haze was starting to spread around the room. Neville watched as a giggling Seamus playfully licked at Tracey's toes. Then his stomach turned as he watched Kingsley blow smoke rings for Lavender to suck in. He was still watching them as Hannah grabbed his arm again.

"We need to go," she whispered, "Ron said it's there!"

Neville turned reluctantly. "Hannah, this is weird. Look at Lavender."

They simultaneously turned back to watch as Lavender pressed herself affectionately up against the Minister. She seemed to be purring as she slipped her hand in at the open neck of his robes.

"She's ... she's an experienced witch," said Hannah, hesitantly. They watched as Kingsley thumbed open Lavender's mouth to blow more smoke in.

"But he's so old," Neville said. They both watched as Lavender smiled.

"She used to go with Ron, what does he think?" Hannah wondered. But Ron was listing sideways in his chair and snoring gently, his drink sitting half-finished on the armrest of his chair.

"I don't know if we should leave them," Neville hesitated and watched as Hannah bit her lip.

"But if it's what she wants..."

"But she's blotto."

They hovered indecisively by the door.

"Ahem," interrupted a voice from behind them. Neville's body jerked in surprise and he grabbed Hannah's shoulder. They both spun around to peer into the shadows.

A strange figure peered back at them. His eyes were magnified through the telescopic lenses of the bottle-bottom glasses he was wearing and he squinted at them over stacks of rolled parchment. In one hand he clutched a quill and with the other he was rubbing a shammy over the well-polished surface of a crystal ball.

"Percy!?" Hannah gasped. "What are you doing?! And whatever are you wearing!"

Percy pushed the glasses up onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes. "Low-light readers. I didn't mean to startle you. I'm managing the Minister now--" he glanced disapprovingly behind them, "--it's something of a full-time role." 

Nodding significantly at the crystal ball he added, "I have seen that in very short order the Minister will be falling asleep."

Neville frowned.

"So, where was it that you two needed to go?" Percy continued. Neville started to answer, but Hannah spoke loudly over him,

"To bed, we're tired." 

"Well there are plenty of rooms here, Harry left Grimmauld at Ron's disposal and Ron is using it for the Movement. Excuse me," Percy said and made a sweeping gesture with his wand. Then he yawned. "Well I should be getting to bed as well. Tomorrow is another full day. Meetings with the Caledonian delegation, and Gringotts of course."

Neville nodded politely as he followed Hannah out the door.

"Good night, everyone!" she called, and was met only by silence: everyone in the room was slumbering in enchanted sleep. 

"Yes, good night," answered Percy. He had spelled all his scrolls back into a satchel and was briskly trotting off. The door clicked shut leaving the two of them alone in the empty hallway.

"I guess it's time to floo home then," Neville said a bit sadly. The evening had been complicated and he wasn't ready for it to end, but Hannah was ready for bed. Maybe she would want to meet again tomorrow.

"Wait! I just said that to get rid of Percy!" Hannah exclaimed. "I still think we should floo to Hogwarts."

Neville looked at her with surprise. She caught his eye and looked a bit embarrassed. "I mean, if you want to. I want to protect the Elder Wand."

Neville started smiling. Yes, he did want to go to Hogwarts, yes he did want to stay up late with Hannah, and yes it was finally time for another adventure.

"Yes. Yes to everything," he said.


End file.
